Chapter 9

The next important event in my life was my visit to Boston, in May, 1888. As if it were yesterday I remember the preparations, the departure with my teacher and my mother, the journey, and finally the arrival in Boston. How different this journey was from the one I had made to Baltimore two years before! I was no longer a restless, excitable little creature, requiring the attention of everybody on the train to keep me amused. I sat quietly beside Miss Sullivan, taking in with eager interest all that she told me about what she saw out of the car window: the beautiful Tennessee River, the great cotton-fields, the hills and woods, and the crowds of laughing negroes at the stations, who waved to the people on the train and brought delicious candy and popcorn balls through the car. On the seat opposite me sat my big rag doll, Nancy, in a new gingham dress and a beruffled sunbonnet, looking at me out of two bead eyes. Sometimes, when I was not absorbed in Miss Sullivan's descriptions, I remembered Nancy's existence and took her up in my arms, but I generally calmed my conscience by making myself believe that she was asleep.

The next important event in my life was my visit to Boston in May 1888. I remember the preparations as if they happened yesterday. I remember leaving with my teacher and my mother, the journey, and finally arriving in Boston. How different the journey was from the one I had made to Baltimore two years earlier! I was no longer a restless, excitable little creature who needed everyone on the train to keep me entertained. I sat quietly beside Miss Sullivan, eagerly taking in everything she told me about what she saw through the train window. There was the beautiful Tennessee River, the great cotton fields, the hills and woods, and the crowds of laughing Black people at the stations. They waved to the people on the train and brought delicious candy and popcorn balls through the car. My big rag doll, Nancy, sat on the seat opposite me. She wore a new gingham dress and a ruffled sunbonnet, and her two bead eyes looked at me. Sometimes, when I was not absorbed in Miss Sullivan’s descriptions, I remembered Nancy and took her in my arms. But I usually eased my conscience by making myself believe she was asleep.

As I shall not have occasion to refer to Nancy again, I wish to tell here a sad experience she had soon after our arrival in Boston. She was covered with dirt—the remains of mud pies I had compelled her to eat, although she had never shown any special liking for them. The laundress at the Perkins Institution secretly carried her off to give her a bath. This was too much for poor Nancy. When I next saw her she was a formless heap of cotton, which I should not have recognized at all except for the two bead eyes which looked out at me reproachfully.

Since I will not mention Nancy again, I want to tell a sad story about her soon after we arrived in Boston. She was covered in dirt from the mud pies I had made her eat, although she had never particularly liked them. The laundress at the Perkins Institution secretly carried her off to give her a bath. The bath was too much for poor Nancy. When I next saw her, she was a shapeless pile of cotton. I would not have recognized her at all, except for the two bead eyes looking at me reproachfully.

When the train at last pulled into the station at Boston it was as if a beautiful fairy tale had come true. The "once upon a time" was now; the "far-away country" was here.

When the train finally pulled into the Boston station, it was as if a beautiful fairy tale had come true. The "once upon a time" was now. The "far-away country" was here.

We had scarcely arrived at the Perkins Institution for the Blind when I began to make friends with the little blind children. It delighted me inexpressibly to find that they knew the manual alphabet. What joy to talk with other children in my own language! Until then I had been like a foreigner speaking through an interpreter. In the school where Laura Bridgman was taught I was in my own country. It took me some time to appreciate the fact that my new friends were blind. I knew I could not see; but it did not seem possible that all the eager, loving children who gathered round me and joined heartily in my frolics were also blind. I remember the surprise and the pain I felt as I noticed that they placed their hands over mine when I talked to them and that they read books with their fingers. Although I had been told this before, and although I understood my own deprivations, yet I had thought vaguely that since they could hear, they must have a sort of "second sight," and I was not prepared to find one child and another and yet another deprived of the same precious gift. But they were so happy and contented that I lost all sense of pain in the pleasure of their companionship.

We had barely arrived at the Perkins Institution for the Blind when I began making friends with the young blind children. I was overjoyed to discover that they knew the manual alphabet. What joy it was to talk with other children in my own language! Until then, I had felt like a foreigner speaking through an interpreter. At the school where Laura Bridgman was taught, I was in my own country. It took me some time to realize that my new friends were blind. I knew I could not see. But it seemed impossible that all the eager, loving children who gathered around me and joined in my games were blind too. I remember the surprise and pain I felt when I noticed them placing their hands over mine as I talked to them. I also noticed that they read books with their fingers. Although I had been told this before and understood what I lacked, I had vaguely imagined that their hearing gave them a kind of "second sight." I was not prepared to find so many children deprived of the same precious gift. But they were so happy and content that the pleasure of their company made me forget my pain.

One day spent with the blind children made me feel thoroughly at home in my new environment, and I looked eagerly from one pleasant experience to another as the days flew swiftly by. I could not quite convince myself that there was much world left, for I regarded Boston as the beginning and the end of creation.

After one day with the blind children, I felt completely at home in my new surroundings. As the days flew by, I eagerly looked forward to each new pleasant experience. I could hardly believe there was much more to the world, because I saw Boston as the beginning and end of creation.

While we were in Boston we visited Bunker Hill, and there I had my first lesson in history. The story of the brave men who had fought on the spot where we stood excited me greatly. I climbed the monument, counting the steps, and wondering as I went higher and yet higher if the soldiers had climbed this great stairway and shot at the enemy on the ground below.

While we were in Boston, we visited Bunker Hill. There I had my first history lesson. I was very excited by the story of the brave men who had fought where we stood. I climbed the monument, counting the steps as I went. As I climbed higher and higher, I wondered if the soldiers had climbed this great stairway and shot at the enemy on the ground below.

The next day we went to Plymouth by water. This was my first trip on the ocean and my first voyage in a steamboat. How full of life and motion it was! But the rumble of the machinery made me think it was thundering, and I began to cry, because I feared if it rained we should not be able to have our picnic out of doors. I was more interested, I think, in the great rock on which the Pilgrims landed than in anything else in Plymouth. I could touch it, and perhaps that made the coming of the Pilgrims and their toils and great deeds seem more real to me. I have often held in my hand a little model of the Plymouth Rock which a kind gentleman gave me at Pilgrim Hall, and I have fingered its curves, the split in the centre and the embossed figures "1620," and turned over in my mind all that I knew about the wonderful story of the Pilgrims.

The next day we went to Plymouth by boat. It was my first trip on the ocean and my first voyage on a steamboat. How full of life and movement it was! But the rumble of the machinery made me think it was thundering. I began to cry because I feared that if it rained, we could not have our picnic outdoors. I think I was more interested in the great rock where the Pilgrims landed than in anything else in Plymouth. I could touch it, and perhaps that made the Pilgrims’ arrival, their hard work, and their great deeds seem more real to me. A kind gentleman at Pilgrim Hall gave me a small model of Plymouth Rock. I have often held it in my hand and felt its curves, the split in the center, and the raised figures "1620." As I did, I thought about all I knew of the wonderful story of the Pilgrims.

How my childish imagination glowed with the splendour of their enterprise! I idealized them as the bravest and most generous men that ever sought a home in a strange land. I thought they desired the freedom of their fellow men as well as their own. I was keenly surprised and disappointed years later to learn of their acts of persecution that make us tingle with shame, even while we glory in the courage and energy that gave us our "Country Beautiful."

How my childhood imagination shone with the grandeur of their undertaking! I imagined them as the bravest and most generous men ever to seek a home in a strange land. I thought they wanted freedom for their fellow men as well as for themselves. Years later, I was deeply surprised and disappointed to learn how they persecuted others. Their actions make us burn with shame, even as we celebrate the courage and energy that gave us our "Country Beautiful."

Among the many friends I made in Boston were Mr. William Endicott and his daughter. Their kindness to me was the seed from which many pleasant memories have since grown. One day we visited their beautiful home at Beverly Farms. I remember with delight how I went through their rose-garden, how their dogs, big Leo and little curly-haired Fritz with long ears, came to meet me, and how Nimrod, the swiftest of the horses, poked his nose into my hands for a pat and a lump of sugar. I also remember the beach, where for the first time I played in the sand. It was hard, smooth sand, very different from the loose, sharp sand, mingled with kelp and shells, at Brewster. Mr. Endicott told me about the great ships that came sailing by from Boston, bound for Europe. I saw him many times after that, and he was always a good friend to me; indeed, I was thinking of him when I called Boston "the City of Kind Hearts."

Among the many friends I made in Boston were Mr. William Endicott and his daughter. Their kindness to me was the beginning of many happy memories. One day, we visited their beautiful home at Beverly Farms. I remember with delight walking through their rose garden. Their dogs came to meet me: big Leo and little Fritz, who had curly hair and long ears. Nimrod, the fastest of the horses, poked his nose into my hands for a pat and a lump of sugar. I also remember the beach, where I played in the sand for the first time. The sand was hard and smooth. It was very different from the loose, sharp sand mixed with kelp and shells at Brewster. Mr. Endicott told me about the great ships that sailed past from Boston on their way to Europe. I saw him many times after that, and he was always a good friend to me. In fact, I was thinking of him when I called Boston "the City of Kind Hearts."